Across the Great Divide Read online

  Finally victorious over the tangle, she began the arduous process of working with a curling iron she had heated on the stove. She made columns of curls around her head as she’d seen in a magazine, each one held in place by artfully hidden pins. She did not want to risk one coming loose as she whirled dancing the evening away.

  An hour later, she called Rose to help her lace her stays and corset so she could actually dress for the evening. Rose, a willowy sixteen-year-old blond with a rather plain face, smirked.

  “I’ll tighten you up—but you tryin’ to be awful fancy with them hair fixin’s!” She dutifully yanked on the strings to compress her cousin’s waist to socially acceptable limits.

  Julia grimaced. “Not that tight, Rose! My ribs’ll pop out!”

  Rose sniffed. “If you want to look like a prize bull instead of a belle, it’s nuthin to me! But most of them boys ain’t gonna be lookin’ at your hair, I can tell ya! Wish’t we could trade some—you got paddin’ where I could use it, and you could use to lose some of yours.”

  Julia sighed. “I have to admit you’re right on that. Okay, go ahead. Pull harder. I’ll breathe in.”

  Rose scolded, “And don’t go eatin’ like a farmhand, neither. Me’n Violet’s gonna stash some of the food, ‘specially the cakes, to eat later after the company’s gone. You can join us if you want. But fellas like to think that the women eat like birds, even if you’d faint from starvation if it were true.”

  Violet appeared, her thick black hair and stouter frame a contrast to her sister. She joined the tugging and pushing. “Whatcha tryin’ to do, be the talk of the ball?” she snickered. “Ain’t nothing but farm boys comin’, and most of ‘em just as interested in your cookin’ as your figure, and certainly not your hair.”

  Julia frowned. “Can’t we just relax and have fun without worryin’ about which boy’ll pick who? I don’t know most of ‘em anyway, and I’m not interested in getting hitched to some plowboy, either. My mama did that, and look where she is! I want a man with prospects, one who’s going somewhere in the world.”

  Violet looked at her slyly. “Well, I did hear a rumor that one of the Todd boys from Lexington might be out this way. Supposedly he’s checking on some property and might come tonight. You know his daddy is a banker, Robert Todd. Word has it they’re pretty rich. ‘Course, it could be just talk,” she said. “And why he’d bother with the likes of us, that’d be a wonder.”

  Julia straightened and sucked in her stomach extra hard. As the three left the room, she sniffed. “Any girl can try to better herself. I certainly intend to.”

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  As Julia entered the barn, she scanned the chairs set around the walls and a makeshift stage of hay bales at the front. She watched the three Negro slaves hired to play for the event as they tuned up. Her uncle did not own any slaves but had hired these from nearby Waveland plantation. Julia had overheard him talking about them. Some slaves had privileges to play for money or do other skilled labor when their masters did not need them. Julia again felt a tightening in her throat and stomach, nervous with anticipation.

  Guests began to arrive, one or two in carriages, but most in farm wagons or on horseback. Despite her intention to appear nonchalant, Julia watched eagerly as the young men arrived. She also watched the other girls to work out who her competition might be. She did not really expect that any of the men would be of suitable station to attract her interest, but she remained hopeful. She paid sharp attention while appearing distracted by the music, tapping her toe in time to the beat. One particularly handsome stranger, dressed in a well-cut expensive suit, caught Julia’s attention. He arrived in a fancy carriage with driver, footman, and groom, and was accompanied by a young woman with tawny hair and blue eyes. Her slim figure and average height were enhanced by a burgundy velvet gown with flashing sequins. She looked like a princess among the country maids assembled there. She laughed and talked animatedly with the young man, who responded in kind. Julia felt a twinge of jealousy. Listening to the gossip around her, Julia discovered that the young man was Samuel Todd, of the banker Todd family. She kept an eye on him without being too obvious. Soon there were about twenty young people and another thirty to forty elders, including her aunt and uncle, who were busy greeting the guests as they entered.

  The music started again, and the young men approached potential partners. No one came to ask Julia to dance, but she pretended not to notice as she made her way to the punch table and took some for herself. Then she strolled back to her seat next to the two other girls not chosen to form squares. Julia watched as the young woman in the burgundy gown, said by some to be Sam Todd’s cousin, acquitted herself beyond Julia’s skill. She knew the right movements and placement, as well as some of the fancier steps other girls neglected. Julia made her observation less obvious by use of the fan she had borrowed from her aunt.

  As the music ended and couples took a short break, Julia turned back toward the punch table. She bumped into a blond young man, dropping the fan to the floor. Flustered with her clumsiness, she lost track of the handsome Sam Todd, but found the young man she’d bumped stooping to pick up the fan for her.

  “Hallo, ma’am. Allow me.”

  The young man handed her the fan. He towered over her, at least six feet tall and built like an oak tree.

  “I am Hiram Johannsen.”

  Julia saw country bumpkin written all over him but had no wish to be rude.

  “Thank you, Mr. Johannsen. I’m Julia Crump, here visiting my aunt and uncle.”

  She curtsied and made to turn away.

  Hiram quickly stammered, “M-m-may I have the next dance with you, Miss Crump, if you are not otherwise engaged?”

  His Swedish accent made her name sound more like “Crimp” than “Crump.” Julia anxiously scanned the crowd, hoping one of her cousins might be nearby, but saw no polite way of escape.

  “Of course, Mr. Johannsen.”

  He offered his arm as the musicians struck up a Virginia reel. Relieved, she took her place opposite him, and the dance began. With a reel she could be part of the dance, but there would be no occasion for close contact or much conversation. Hiram proved a surprisingly capable and nimble dancer despite his size. It was somewhat comical as they made the bridge for the other couples to pass through at the end, as Hiram had to stoop and the other couples had to duck to accommodate Julia’s short stature. She felt awkward and embarrassed, although Hiram smiled at her constantly and seemed taken with her. Julia had to admit he was handsome in an oxish sort of way, but she racked her brain for a way to escape. When the dance ended, she quickly thanked him and excused herself by telling him she must go and see if her aunt needed any help with her guests.

  When she found her aunt, Julia encouraged her to sit and rest. Julia refilled the punch bowl while listening to the conversation going on around the table. The girl in the burgundy velvet was holding forth in a most unladylike way while her companion Sam Todd smiled indulgently.

  “Slave owners are just stealing from the Lord and from the blacks they own,” she intoned indignantly. “England has shown that slavery can be successfully abolished. Why, the Bible itself says that if a slave can be free, he should be, and that in Christ there is no slave or free, that all men are brothers.”

  Sam tugged at her elbow, attempting to steer her away from the group of collected listeners.

  “You must excuse my cousin, gentlemen. Louise reads more than is good for her. Come, Louise, let’s encourage the darkies to play, and we can dance to more of their excellent music,” he encouraged.

  Louise wasn’t moving. One of the gentlemen at the table, wearing a rough-cut suit, said sneeringly, “And does not your own family own slaves, Miss Todd?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Jameson, they do, and more’s the shame of it.”

  “And who will tend the fields to grow the cotton and crops that keep you in silks and fine dresses if the slaves don’t do it? Free the slaves and England would not have to use troops to win ba
ck the colonies, they’d win them back through economic collapse. The British would simply buy their raw goods from elsewhere in the empire, as our rising prices made us a laughing stock, if we could even provide them at all.”

  “Mark my words, Mr. Jameson,” Louise replied. “Freedom is coming, and all across the South planters and others who fail to anticipate it shall suffer.” With that, Sam was finally able to prevail upon her to join the set forming for the next dance.

  Julia quietly moved away, pondering what she’d heard. Would freeing slaves really be so bad? Then again, what would they do? The slaves here did not seem particularly wretched. Jolted from her reverie by another of the farmers, she accepted his offer to dance and joined in a lively polka, contriving to steer them next to where Sam and Louise were dancing. Her partner, a clumsy yokel with three left feet, kept stepping on her toes and apologizing. As she dodged one of his careless stomps, she bumped into Sam Todd behind her. Julia lost her balance, twisted an ankle, and fell in a heap of petticoats. Her legs went shooting out, tripping Sam, and causing him to pull his partner down as well, while the yokel stood staring at them and Louise glared at her. Sam ignored Julia and solicitously helped his partner up, apologizing profusely. Julia flamed with embarrassment. The music had stopped, and everyone was looking at them. She wanted to sink through a crack in the floor. She would not impress Sam Todd now. She wanted to apologize to him, but found Hiram Johannsen offering her a hand up. By the time she was on her feet, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

  “Thank you, Mr. Johannsen. Again, I am in your debt,” she said, seeking where Sam might have gone.

  “Not at all, Miss Crump. May I get you some punch? Or perhaps you’d like to get some air?” he said, offering his arm.

  “Well, ah, Mr. Johannsen,” she said, looking around somewhat frantically. Sam wasn’t there. Perhaps he’d left after the embarrassment of their fall? Making up her mind, Julia brightened. “Yes, perhaps some air would be just thing,” she said, noticing some people still staring at her.

  As they walked to the barnyard, she saw that her cousins were pointing and laughing at her.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Crump?” asked Hiram, observing her slight wince as she walked.

  “Oh yes, it’s nothing. Just twisted my ankle. Thank you for rescuing me. Perhaps … I should go to the house and lie down for a while.”

  “Let me help you.”

  Gratefully, she leaned on his arm for support.

  “I hope we’ll see one another again,” he said at the door.

  Later, when everyone had gone home, Violet came into Julia’s room, and said “Looks like you found your plowboy after all.”

  “It was just a dance,” Julia said defensively. To herself, she thought, And he was handsome. On reflection, his courtly manners made him seem… less like a yokel.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Will rose early and did his usual chores. Now that his father was home, he would be able to go back to school. After Sara packed him a lunch in a pail, he began the five-mile walk in good spirits. He enjoyed learning, and if he got into trouble with his parents, it was usually because he was poring over a borrowed book rather than attending to additional farmwork. He was well through most of the fifth reader and ahead in trigonometry as well, so if he missed a day or two of school, it was not a real problem. Today he strode merrily, enjoying a cool break in the weather and lifting his face to the clear blue sky as he took in the sound of the songbirds. He went the long way, using the bridge to cross the creek. Other times he waded right through it, arriving at school still dripping.

  Arriving half an hour before the bell, he found most of the boys involved in a game of “Annie Over,” tossing the ball and laughing. It would have been fun to join in, but, feeling his new, more grown-up status, Will decided against it.

  Scanning the field, he saw two of the older boys, Jesse Davis and Ben Drake, were tossing a girl’s violet bonnet back and forth between them. They were teasing the prettiest girl in the school, Jenny Morton.

  Angrily, she shouted, “Give it back!” and leaped in such a manner as to expose her pantalets in an attempt to catch it. Jesse was a tall boy who’d gotten his growth early, nearing six feet, with curly black hair and mischief in his blue eyes. Jenny was fourteen, her blonde curls dancing in the air as she jumped fruitlessly after the bonnet.

  “What’ll you give for it, Jenny?” Ben teased. At sixteen, he was a solidly built farm boy, some inches shorter than Jesse and as frisky as a colt just turned loose for spring. His brown hair was shorter than most boys—to stay cool, he said. Muscles rippled in his arms as he tossed the bonnet back to Jesse.

  Jenny’s face was scarlet, and her blue eyes snapped like snake whips. She made a fist. “I’ll give you a black eye if you don’t give it back!” This just made the boys laugh. Jesse almost dropped the bonnet. The boys were so preoccupied with their quarry they didn’t notice Will walk over.

  “Give it back to her,” Will said calmly. “No need to pick on a girl.”

  “Who asked you?” Jesse retorted. “Hey, maybe he wants to wear it! Latest fashion for bookworms, right Ben?” He tossed the bonnet back to Ben, high over Jenny’s head and out of her reach.

  Ben laughed and turned to toss the bonnet back to Jesse, but before it left his grasp, Will’s head hit his gut at full charge. Ben dropped the bonnet and doubled over, gasping. Will snatched it up and returned it to Jenny, who fled toward the schoolhouse with a quick, grateful look back at him. Will faced his adversaries. He took a fighting stance, waiting for Jesse to attack, but Jesse walked over to Ben and gave him a hand up.

  “Whadja go and do that for? We was just funnin’ her.” Ben was still bent over, trying to regain his breath.

  “I don’t think she thought it was fun. Picking on someone weaker is just mean.”

  “Aww, you’re just sweet on her, that’s what! You’d better watch your back!” Jesse fumed as he helped Ben toward the school.

  In the schoolhouse, Will took his seat with the older boys. The room held two rows of wrought-iron desks with polished wooden tops. Girls sat on the right, boys on the left, with the youngest pupils at the front, owing to their tendency to cause mischief. The teacher’s podium and bookcase sat on a raised wooden platform. A chalkboard, a picture of President Buchanan, and the American flag were at the very front of the classroom. A separate podium had a large Bible opened on it.

  Mr. Powell called the boisterous students to order, asking the first reader group to come forward and recite. Though the schoolmaster was of average height, he towered over the little ones, who seemed in awe of him. His eyes moved constantly around the classroom, peering over the spectacles that gave him a owlish look. The young scholars took turns reading aloud the lesson and reciting their Bible memory verse for the week, with Mr. Powell occasionally coaxing and correcting.

  Will attempted to open his desk lid to get his slate and copybook to work on his trigonometry. He tugged but found the desk tied shut with thin wire. He jerked, causing a banging noise and a disapproving glare from Mr. Powell. As soon as Will untwisted the wire and got the desk open, he felt a wet splat, as something hit the back of his head and dripped down his neck. Pulling a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the back of his head and found a used plug of chewing tobacco stuck to his hair. As he quickly glanced backward, Ben smirked at him. Momentarily his temper flared, but he faced forward again. Jenny glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him empathetically. Will wondered if Ben and Jessie would be waiting for him after school along the road home. It nagged at his thoughts, but he tried to push it aside, concentrating instead on the math problems at hand.

  He finished in an hour, and when called to recite, demonstrated mastery of the answers and explanations. Returning to his seat, he found no further evidence of devilment from the boys. He quickly lost himself in the description of the rebellion at the Massachusetts state prison in his reader. He wondered at the statement that death was better than the flogging and imprisonm
ent suffered by the inmates, thinking how he might respond to such treatment. He thought perhaps it might be best to endure the treatment rather than risk death.

  The remainder of the school day seemed to pass swiftly. Will barely noticed his surroundings, though occasionally he noted Jenny looking back at him when Mr. Powell was occupied helping another student. Her glances gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  At four o’clock, Mr. Powell said the final prayer of the day and dismissed everyone. Will hung back, reading, until he was the last student left in the classroom. Apprehensively, he gathered his books and left the school building, unsure what might be waiting outside. As he emerged into the sunshine, he noticed Jenny off to the right side, apparently waiting for him.

  “Will?” she called to him. “I wanted to wait for you and thank you properly for what you did today. I’m sorry those mean boys caused trouble for you. Would you mind walking home with me? I know it’s a little out of your way, but if Ben and Jessie are waiting for you, they won’t expect you to go this way. And, well, if they’re waiting for me, I’d rather have you with me. Please?” Her blue eyes and dimples smiled at him. Will felt an unaccustomed flutter low in his belly.

  “Sure, Jenny, if you want.”

  WILL’S GUN

  Late April, 1859

  Next Saturday, in the early morning light, Will drove to Lexington for supplies. Arriving at the dry goods store he presented his list to Mr. Hobson, the owner, who peered at it from behind his round-owl spectacles. He wore a clerk’s visor over his receding hairline and a white pinstriped apron over a dark vest and white shirt. His rotund frame bent forward, and he smiled at Will.